


Blood Moon

by crudescere



Category: GOT7, JJ Project
Genre: Blood and Injury, Kingdoms, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Violence, i make my own rules please bear with it, mentions of shapeshifting but no one really shapeshifts here, not really fantasy, shifting povs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:21:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24162022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crudescere/pseuds/crudescere
Summary: Eyes looked at him but they never see. Either they weren't looking enough, or they looked too much and saw what was inside and decided it,he, wasn't enough. And so Jaebeom fights, to be acknowledged, for his place on the throne. And he will be king no matter what, at whatever cost.
Relationships: Im Jaebum | JB/Jackson Wang, Im Jaebum | JB/Park Jinyoung, Park Jinyoung/Mark Tuan
Comments: 24
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, I am back with another au. And I don't know what came over me to write this but, uhh, here it is (the first chapter at least). And yes, it starts off with the boys as children so, just, you know, it's going to be a journey.  
> I hope you, guys, like it!!!

A journey of no return:

the wanderer's sack is

bottomless.

He closed his mouth on the flesh forcefully, teeth digging and planting securely, making a place in the punctures of mixed softness and tension that could only be attributed to adolescent youthfulness. He bit down tightly, jaw closing in and locking without the intention of letting go. And when he heard a horrified cry, a desperate wail, right after he tasted the metallic tang of blood – Jaebeom smiled.

“Get off me!”

The shrieking continued, accompanied by another shout of panic telling him to let go, but Jaebeom only smiled wider, focus never wavering from the task at hand. A fist pounded on his back, a booted kick landed on his gut. A blow to the side of the head, a violent pull on his hair. More shouts and demands for him to let go but Jaebeom only held on tighter. He had been beaten before he thought of striking back; the pain being inflicted on him now was nothing new. The drip of blood from his chin, from where he had clamped his teeth around tendons and muscles – now, that was something new and he relished every second of tasting blood and hearing his enemies cry louder. Revenge  _ did  _ taste sweet, he thought.

“Jaebeom,” said in a shaky and terrified tone which he knew so well, despised so well, “Stop. Please, stop this. Oh  _ god _ , please stop.” 

Mark at his weakest always did make the coiling rage inside of Jaebeom slither and wrap around his entire being faster than any punch or kick delivered to his face could. It made him dig his teeth deeper. 

Jaebeom was no hero. He was chewing on skin and flesh because  _ he  _ wanted to, found a sick sense of victory in doing so, but Mark could at least shut his mouth and suck it up if he was not going to help. Like he always did. Never mind that the premise of the fight was him. Mark made his blood boil, made him angrier, at moments like this.

Then, a rush of hooves, a flurry of more shouting and threatening, and he was hauled powerfully away from the arm he was trying to mutilate using his teeth. Frustration from being unceremoniously dragged away crept on him but a smile formed again when he felt a bit of flesh stuck in between his teeth, when he saw the mangled arm – when he saw hatred and abhorrence, but most importantly  _ fear _ , in his cousin’s eyes. 

Jaebeom loved being feared. At a young age, Jaebeom learned how it worked, how the world worked. It was fear that made people powerful, and Jaebeom wanted power. He needed power.

“You!” Minjae sneered, putting himself in front of his older brother. He was older than Jaebeom, older than Mark, but Jaebeom never cared for petty things like age. “You will pay for this! You won’t get away with pulling shit like this, you bastard!”

Jaebeom spat blood and flesh, eyes blazing with as much contempt and spite as Minjae’s. “And what exactly will you do? Cry to your nursemaid? Go on, tell her.”

Murder flashed in Minjae’s face and he lunged only to be stopped by one of the soldiers that came to end their little feud. “I will kill you!”

Jaebeom may only be thirteen but he knew that look. Minjae was determined to hurt him and he would, if Jaebeom would not do the hurting first. So Jaebeom spread his legs, bracing himself for an attack.

“Stop, please! Both of you!” Mark pleaded, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, legs trembling like the leaves of the trees around them, hands clenched tightly in front.

The sight made Jaebeom sick. Mark was older than him by a whole year and it sickened Jaebeom because  _ why won’t he fight _ .

Mark continued, “I beg you, please, stop fighting!”

“Shut up,” Jaebeom hissed. He jumped into the fight because of his brother but he would be damned if he retreated because of him. Mark might not be one to uphold such values but Jaebeom never backed down from a fight, never let anyone trample him. Not because of his birth and certainly not because of his coward of an elder brother.

“No, Jaebeom, stop.” Mark nodded to the rest of the soldiers, silently commanding them to take Minjae and Daejun away. Always the one to give up, always the one to yield.

Mark really infuriated Jaebeom. Almost as much as his cousins did.

“Don’t you dare interrupt us,” he growled, “This is our fight. Stay out of it.”

“No,” Mark wrapped an arm around himself, “Father will hear of this and then what? He’d be mad at you. And for god’s sake, Jaebeom, look at yourself! You’re covered in blood!”

“Yeah but it’s not mine,” a sense of satisfaction blooming in his chest, “And you should be grateful that it’s not yours either.”

Jaebeom watched as a guard tore a piece of cloth from his garb to wrap around Daejun’s bleeding arm. He grimaced because any minute now, Daejun’s arm will be disinfected and bandaged to heal. The bastard did not deserve it. Not after he pummeled Mark to the ground and punched Jaebeom in the face.

“You’re going to pay for this, Jaebeom,” Daejun hissed before allowing himself to be ushered away by the guards.

Minjae snarled as they retreated, “Control your brother, Mark. You may be a useless bastard but you have more brain than him. Or else next time, I will make sure that that would be his last. No more nexts after that.”

“ _ I _ will kill  _ you _ ,” Jaebeom yelled, “Don’t ever show your face to me again!”

The hold on his shoulder loosened and Jaebeom shrugged off the guard keeping him in place, stomping his way opposite from Daejun and Minjae, down to the trail towards the little stream he frequented. It was Jaebeom’s little sanctuary. He loved the cool water the stream offered. Straight from the mountains of Treneria, cool and sweet. It tasted home.

Jaebeom loved Treneria and would die for it. Too bad his father did not think similarly.

“Jaebeom!” Mark called. “We need to get you cleaned up, get your wounds treated.”

He ignored his brother. There was nothing major, just a busted lip, cuts on his arms and fists, and sore ribs. A couple of bruises would form all over him but that was nothing unusual. He was used to it. The moment he saw his cousins, he knew he would have to fight to prove himself.

Loud shuffles then the sound of horses rattling away meant Mark ordered the soldiers off, most definitely with the specifics of calling his nurse to the stream. Mark had always been the one to call for help, letting someone else do his bidding. Another thing that pissed Jaebeom off.

“Hey,” Mark said as he caught up beside Jaebeom, “You didn’t have to do that. The guards were on their way. You didn’t have to fight.”

Jaebeom kicked a stone towards the clear water, watching it sink to the bottom. “Don’t flatter yourself too much, Mark. I didn’t do it for you. All I did was prove to them that the Lims are never to be messed with. I did it for  _ me _ .”

Mark watched Jaebeom clean his face, gargle water and spit to the earth. “You know how they are. It’s all harmless nonsense. They can’t do anything.”

Jaebeom whipped his head and glared at Mark, the front of his shirt soaked with diluted blood and water, hair sticking up in multiple directions, the angry set of his mouth almost permanent as he accused. “Harmless? How the hell is them pummeling you to the ground harmless? They continue picking on you because you don’t fight! And you know how this works, you  _ know _ . If father loses the favor, loses the throne, they will come for it, will kill us for it. You  _ know  _ that. Nothing is harmless.”

Jaebeom hated his brother for this. Mark took everything lying down. Never complained, never retaliated. Mark just smiled and obeyed, always cowering when a hand was raised, always trembling when voices roared and threatened. But Jaebeom was different. Perhaps it was because nobody took him seriously, nobody thought he was capable of something. Everybody disregarded him because his blood was tainted, he was impure, that he had to fight in order to be seen. Mark and his pretty face, angelic smile, and delicate mannerisms will never understand. Jaebeom needed to prove himself and he would never falter.

“Father will never lose the throne,” Mark muttered, gazing into the distance, “The treaty he made with Frejord came with stability. He won’t lose the throne. You shouldn’t worry about such adult things. It’s still far in the future that we need to meddle in court business, you know.”

Jaebeom clenched his fists, the flesh stinging from where it was exposed by broken skin. “The throne is  _ mine _ . I am the rightful heir to it. And it is my right to worry about it. I will never let it fall to any other hands.”

“The House of Kim has as much right to it as our house. You know that.”

“No!” Jaebeom gritted out, “The throne is mine. It belongs to the Lims and to no one else.” He punctuated every word, “It is mine.”

“But you can’t-”

Jaebeom’s sharp hiss cut Mark’s argument. The look Jaebeom gave Mark sent shivers through the elder’s spine. Jaebeom seemed ready to murder.

“Don’t you dare say I can’t inherit it because I’m impure. Don’t you dare, you bastard.”

Jaebeom seldom used the profanity towards his brother since it carried a notion of truth that he never really meant to use to hurt. Mark may not be his mother’s son but that did not erase the fact that it was Mark who stood beside him all these time, that it was he who Jaebeom resorted to when he had no other choice. Mark was a bastard, a disgrace in the House of Lim, but he still was Jaebeom’s brother. Half or not, that did not matter.

But Mark also had the favor for the throne despite being illegitimate.  _ That _ Jaebeom resented.

Just like being born out of an affair should not be held against Mark, it should not be held against Jaebeom that he was a polymorph, someone not fully human. Blood tainted by evil. 

Jaebeom did not ask for the liquid in his veins to swirl with the ancient promise of – nothing. For that was what it was. Nothing. Jaebeom’s mom descended from shapeshifters of centuries ago, from a time of oblivion, eons before civilization was born. 

When magic flowed through land and seas, it was something to be heralded, something to be proud of. Something humankind envied. But now, hundreds of years after, the magic in his blood was nothing but a reminder of how he was different from the rest. Of how his soul was not pure. Of how he was below everyone else, how he lacked the qualities of being a full human. 

Now, humans scorned those who were born from such primeval magic. Nevermind that shape shifting had been impossible since decades ago, the world still said Jaebeom was inferior to them all because he was tainted. Not entirely human.

He was set aside, reduced to nothing. A remnant of the past and a symbol of the mistakes of nature. And that was something his pretty brother would never understand. The hunger to fight for his place. The fight to simply be  _ seen _ .

Jaebeom was the legitimate heir to the crown of Treneria and he would do everything he could to sit on the throne and protect the land he called his home. No brothers, cousins nor nations would take that away from him.

“Young masters!” A cry from Jaebeom’s nurse interrupted the eerie silence that enveloped the brothers. She was a plump, aged woman who had cared for Jaebeom ever since he was born. She was the closest Jaebeom had to a parental figure since his mother immediately fled back to Haeth, to where her father sat on the Haethian throne, to where Jaebeom’s father can no longer beat her black and blue for giving off an offspring as tainted as she was. 

Jaebeom tried not to think much of her mother. Hers was a face Jaebeom only saw in castle portraits, fragile and delicate. It was her fault the polymorphic curse was passed on to him. The possibility of passing down the tainted gene was uncertain, yet she did it to Jaebeom. And then she left him alone in a castle whose tenants fought blood against blood, alone in the fight for power.

Jaebeom tried not to think much of the woman.

A pair of hands fussed over him; a wet and cold cloth passed over his face. “How many times did I tell you to stop picking fights?” The nurse scolded. “It wouldn’t do you any good to raise the ires of the noblemen, young master! Stop being stupid!”

If it were anyone else, Jaebeom would have raised his knuckles again, thrown a punch again. But it was his nursemaid and she did nothing but scold him through the years so he had learned to brush the chastisement off without much care. After all, it was she who showed Jaebeom that polymorphs could have a spine of steel too. That polymorphs, despite the shortness of pure human genetics, could be just as accomplished as any untainted human. 

She was the most human Jaebeom knew, and she was impure herself.

He made her a promise not long ago and he still remembered it clearly. “I don’t care about noblemen,” he grumbled, “I fight for my place on the throne and when I am king, I will bring Yugyeom home. And no other child of Treneria will be sent to other nations to fight again. No more, there will be no more.”

She grew somber as she tended to the cuts on his hands. “Yugyeom, huh.”

Yugyeom was her son. A couple years younger than Jaebeom and who was more of a brother to him than Mark had ever been. It was Yugyeom who had his back no matter what; Yugyeom who threw stones at his cousins alongside him, Yugyeom who snarled at noblemen when they mocked Jaebeom. They were a pair, until they were not.

Although having a polymorph for a mother, Yugyeom was fortunately spared of the impurity curse – but that meant another curse fell upon his young head like a guillotine. Ever since Jaebeom’s father gave Treneria away to be a vassalage of Frejord, the country had been nothing but a reservoir of soldiers for the Frejord king. Young, innocent, untainted children were given away, sent to the training camps to another country, educated in murder and tactics to protect Frejord. A country which was not their own. The youth of Treneria was forced to live in servitude, bow down to a foreign king, and protect not their homeland, but another. 

Jaebeom vowed he would put a stop to it.

“Still, it isn’t wise to make enemies of your cousins,” the nurse said, “You need their vote if you want to be king someday.”

“I don’t need anyone’s vote. The crown is mine by birthright.”

She sighed and looked at Mark, who was perched on a huge rock, feet bare and dipping in the cool water of the stream. “You ought to be more like your brother. You’d achieve a lot more if you learn even a quarter bit of how he smiles that sweet smile of his. You’re not  _ that _ ugly, young master. Only if you don’t bare your teeth like you do, you could pass being a prince.”

Jaebeom scoffed. He knew how pretty his brother was and he also knew how Mark used it to his advantage. Coy smiles and gentle behavior – that was how Mark lived every day in the castle, how he asked for things, how he got what little of the things he wanted. But Jaebeom refused to be like his brother. No one will be charmed even if Jaebeom smiled. All the noblemen,  _ his father _ , saw was an incompetent polymorph trying to be human.

Jaebeom had never wanted to be able to shapeshift beyond his sharp teeth and rigid bones more than he did now. Maybe if he really did become a monster, people would start fearing him. Ugly and all.

__________

Jaebeom walked down the stone corridors of the castle, not giving an ounce of thought to the mud he tracked inside the gray stoned hallways. He had come from the stables after helping one mare deliver a shivering colt. The little trembles of the tiny horse as it took its first steps in the real world made Jaebeom grin despite the dirt covering his clothes, the blood painting his arms red. There lamely stood a small, hideous, cowering animal but all Jaebeom saw was the promise of strength, magnificence and power. Jaebeom could not wait for the black colt to grow up, to shed its delicate skin, and become the beast everyone will be frightened of. Jaebeom just knew it would become a monster, something wild that would refuse to be tamed. 

The mare died after the delivery. Jaebeom also thought it was very symbolic. The colt reminded him of himself and his sharp smile had grown wider.

Jaebeom was just rounding up the corner that would lead him to the castle wing where his chamber was located when a group of royal guards stopped him. Jaebeom, as far as he remembered, had left his cousins alone during the remainder of their visit. The Kims should be leaving the castle anytime now, he supposed. It was already noon and the travel to the Kim estate was lengthy. He knew no one liked to travel in the darkness of the night, especially noblemen. Especially the members of House Kim. Their cowardness always made Jaebeom irritated.

“What?” 

He scowled at the biggest of the guards, probably the chief of the squad. The guards annoyed Jaebeom too. They were always all up in his business, always watching him. Their presence suffocated Jaebeom. Perhaps he would prohibit guards  _ inside _ the castle once he became king. Why were the military inside anyways? Who were they guarding the royal family from inside the castle? Yes, Jaebeom will shoo them all away.

The chief’s eyes surveyed his state, eyes travelling from his bare head to his dirtied boots, and seemed to have found him distasteful. Jaebeom’s insides prickled. He hated that look. He knew an enemy when he saw one.

“The king is waiting for you in the throne room. It’s urgent. You don’t have time to change clothes.” The tone the chief used said Jaebeom would disgrace the throne room.

Jaebeom couldn't care less of what he wore in his father’s presence. He could be drowning in silks and satins or he could be drenched in horse blood and earth – there would be no difference. Hell, he could come up in nothing, buck naked like the day he was born, and his father, the king, would still treat him like he always did. The king would still look at Jaebeom as something less than his supposed heir.

He shrugged and said, “Lead the way.”

Jaebeom wondered what it was now that his father needed from him. Usually, he was spared politics, seeing as being impure meant he had a very slight chance, if at all, for any substantial royal position, much less the throne. And he was also young, a kid in his father’s eyes but not to the other nobles, it seemed. His cousins and their families were proof of that. He was still educated, of course, but it was seldom that he was called to be the audience of the king.

When the heavy door to the throne room gave way to the grand expanse of the castle’s wealth, the first thing Jaebeom saw was his father, which was an obvious given. However, there was something amiss, something not right, something that made the air around them heavy and uncomfortable. The way his father slumped on the massive chair made Jaebeom’s hackles rise up. 

The second thing Jaebeom noticed were the men wearing odd colors. Colors that did not belong in the Trenerian court. Colors that represented Frejord. And there were five of them, too armed to be ordinary ambassadors, the massive bowed swords of Frejord clipped on their backs.  _ Soldiers, _ Jaebeom’s brain supplied.

Not far from him, on the other side of the room, stood Mark. Jaebeom saw the same confusion and anxiety bubbling up in him in his brother’s eyes. There was definitely something very wrong.

“Jaebeom.” The king’s tone carried a note of displeasure underneath the measured confidence and poorly-covered exhaustion. The king was tired and it appeared that Jaebeom’s filthy presentation was driving him to the edge. Jaebeom internally snickered. It was nice to know he could humiliate his father, even if it was only flitting, in front of foreign powers.

“Why are you so filthy?”

“Horse,” he answered with a shrug.

The king narrowed his eyes at him then waved his hand like Jaebeom being dipped in mare birth blood and muck was something that happened everyday. He then turned to the Frejordians, a serious frown between his brows, mouth pursed in tension. “I suppose he doesn’t have time to change?”

“No,” one of the colorful men said, “The journey is long and we don’t have time to spare. The sun is going to set in a few hours.”

The king sighed in conclusion and Jaebeom’s already taut patience snapped.

“What are you talking about?” He demanded. “What’s this about? Why are Mark and I here?” he pointed at the five intruders, “Why are  _ they  _ here?”

“Jaebeom,” the king warned, “Don’t point your finger at our friends.”

_ Friends? _ Jaebeom scowled. Frejordians had never been their friends. They were oppressors, buying their country, forcing Treneria to believe in a false sense of freedom. Frejord kept their leash long, their collars loose, a fake sense of sovereignty. But in the end, Jaebeom knew how much hold Frejord had on Treneria’s neck. He and the people of his land all knew. They were certainly not friends.

“We’re here to take you and your brother to Frejord,” said the same Frejordian, “And we need to leave soon.”

The harsh tone did not leave any room for argument but Jaebeom will be damned if he just got up and went with them without any explanations. There was a nagging voice in his head telling him that this would not be just like any other vacation trip to a foreign country. Especially to a country that might as well own theirs. Not friends.

Jaebeom turned his head to the king, “I will not go without an explanation. What is going on, father?”

“You will do as I have told you,” the king replied, “You have no say in this matter, Jaebeom.”

Mark, for the first time since they had gathered in the room, so quiet, blending in with the wall he leaned against, that Jaebeom almost forgot he was there, spoke. “I mean no disrespect,” he lowered his head in a polite bow to the Frejordian soldiers, an act that made Jaebeom want to spit against the colorful garb the intruders wore, “But my brother has a point. I mean, we need to prepare and pack. I think it’s best that we know what we should bring to this trip.”

The king loudly sighed and slumped further in his seat, more than Jaebeom had ever seen his father do. It was becoming more and more difficult to recognize the man before him as the seconds passed by. The last Jaebeom saw his father, he was a king. Now, however, he was nothing but a puppet, tied with strings around ankles and wrists, and made to dance under an ugly tune.

Jaebeom needed to know what was wrong.

He was answered by the same man and this time Jaebeom did not fail to notice the hardness behind his eyes. If a second ago, he was regarding Jaebeom with mild amusement, as if he was a brat and nothing more, now he was looking at both him and his brother with admonition. Those eyes said that if Jaebeom spoke more, the situation would turn nasty. Jaebeom almost took a step back.

“You don’t have to pack,” the Frejordian said, “You don’t have to bring anything. Not clothes, not possessions. You will be provided with what you need when we get to Frejord and I must say, we can’t dawdle anymore. We need to leave now.”

The soldier nodded to his comrades and in a whirlwind, Jaebeom was flanked at both sides with vibrant colored soldiers, arms tightly held by each and hauled out of the throne room. In reflex, he writhed and tried to get out of the grip but the soldiers were strong, so much stronger than thirteen year-old him. Dread trickled in his gut like sap, sticky and thick and suffocating. And for the first time in his life, he realized in cold trepidation, real and raw like he had never felt before, all too late, that the soldiers, grown up and trained, who wore chain mails and armed with unfamiliar swords, who held knives at his sides were not going to be easy on him. He was not their prince.

All his life he wanted to be treated equals with everyone, every  _ human _ , and now he was. But all of it was unfair. And Jaebeom was afraid. Truly so.

A quick glance showed that his brother was being taken and manhandled as well.

Another glance showed his father nodding at them both with encouragement.

Before the doors fell close behind them, he heard the king say, “Stick to the agreement. Don’t hurt them, please. They’re just children.”

__________

Jaebeom wondered if this was how all prisoners travelled, because he was sure that was what he and Mark were: prisoners. But he also remembered the open wagons, ragged and filthy, numerous and massive crates, a death sentence, that carried Trenerian children away from their home, that took Yugyeom away from him.

The plush seat of the carriage, covered in expensive damask in the same pattern of the curtain to the one window, and the expanse of the space made of oak and reinforced with iron, lined with  _ gold _ – if those were inadequate signs, the fact that he and his brother sat in front of the head of the Frejordian soldiers, not tied and bound and deposited alongside cargos, made Jaebeom conclude that they were at least not ordinary prisoners. They were still treated royalty and Jaebeom, after seeing the last of the castle he called his home for the past thirteen years disappear from his sight, finally snapped out of the momentary shock and betrayal that washed over him. His fists were clenched tightly. 

Beside him, Mark was trying to make himself disappear, crouching in on himself to be as tiny as possible. In response, Jaebeom made his presence as known as he could, coughing loudly and staring right into the Frejordian soldier’s eyes dead on, chin tilted up in pride and defiance.

“Care to explain what’s going on, soldier?”

The soldier returned his stare, observing him for a minute, before exhaling and leaning back against the carriage wall. “You’re not scared?”

“When your soldiers had knives at my sides and under my chin, I was.” Jaebeom crossed his arms after the admission and straightened his spine, spitting out, “But right now, I’m not. I’m not scared of you. But I am angry and that’s worse. For you.”

“Jaebeom,” Mark placated him but he gave no sign that he heard his brother.

The soldier glanced back and forth at him and Mark in thought, mouth pressed in a thin line and eyes calculating. He sighed again. “You ought to reign in that temper, boy. It’ll cost you if you don’t.”

Jaebeom let the advice roll past him. He had been told that plenty of times already. Nothing new. “So? What’s going on? Why are we being sent to Frejord?”

The soldier appeared to think if it would be wise to spill the truth to the boys, and before Jaebeom could launch himself across the wobbly carriage to pry the reason out of the soldier using his fists, the Frejordian let on. “As collateral.”

“Go on.”

“Dretus is on the move. I assume you know of Dretus?” The soldier had a brow up in question and Jaebeom grunted as affirmation. Of course he knew Dretus. Treneria shared borders with it. “It hasn’t declared war yet but the Dretians have been causing troubles along Frejordian borders. Two days ago, they started closing in on Treneria. And as a vassal state to Frejord, we can’t let it go to Dretus.”

Jaebeom’s foot tapped on the carriage floor. “I know you’re possessive of our country but if Dretus invades us, we will fight. With or without your help, Treneria will fight for itself.”

The soldier smiled at him, an odd upturn of the lips that made him look more menacing than approving. Jaebeom liked the smile. “Perhaps if it was under your rule, my prince. But your father, the Trenerian king, has made an audience with the Dretian general and it doesn’t sit well with our king.”

Jaebeom felt a trickle of cold fury drip inside him. His father was the useless of all kings.

“It is well known that the Trenerian king is fickle. He sides with whoever can provide him power and protection. And there is still uncertainty with half of your nobles disagreeing with the treaty. Our king is worried your father might strike a deal with Dretus and cross the treaty he made with us.”

“So as assurance that he will keep his side of the agreement,” Jaebeom sneered, “An agreement that allows Frejord to take Trenerian children, that mandates Treneria to pay taxes to your king, an agreement that encourages Frejord to  _ steal _ from Treneria, my father has given us, his sons, as collaterals? To prove that he is loyal to your king?”

Jaebeom was reaching his limit. He needed something to punch, something to pound his fists against until they were covered in blood, and the saddened look the soldier gave him only made it worse. He briefly pondered at attacking the man but stopped himself from doing so. The soldier was heavily armed and they were enclosed in a moving vehicle. He might be reckless but he was not stupid.

“For what my word is worth, I think you would be a better king,” the soldier said which surprised Jaebeom. Even Mark had whipped his head and was now looking at the man thoroughly, assessing him from head to foot. “But for now, you are a prisoner of Frejord. And I advise you both,” he nodded his head to Jaebeom and Mark, “to be smart. Don’t do anything that will get you killed.”

Then silence. None of them uttered another word for the entirety of the ride.

Jaebeom kept his eyes out of the window, savoring the lush greenery of his homeland. And once they crossed the border, once he had seen the end of Trenerian territory, he closed his eyes and willed his brain to commit everything to memory, forging the image of the mountains, the crunch of the earth, the taste of the water, the hum of the wind into a picture that will never fade. He needed the memory to not fade, to last forever.

For none of them knew when he could be back, if he could be back. There was no certainty that he could return home.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

When you contemplate the waters

at daybreak, you can hear

the lotus blossom.

It was out of character for Mark to wander about especially when the moon hung high in the sky and served as the only illumination to the unfamiliar dim hallways, the cobblestones different under his soft shoes, the silence eerie. Even when pitch black, Treneria was never silent – there was always the noise of shuffling tree leaves, the buzz of cicadas in the summer, the whistle of the wind. The sound of nature made Treneria alive even in the dead of the night. Frejord was mysteriously silent.

Mark was never one to go out of his chambers at night in fear of running to one of his father’s guards, in fear of getting punished, of being slapped across the face, of being hit by the heaviness of a sheathed sword. Mark religiously stuck to his schedule: wake up when the sun rose in the east, have breakfast, attend his lessons, have lunch, attend more lessons, look for Jaebeom and make sure he was not getting into troubles, get Jaebeom out of trouble, have dinner, retire to his bedroom before the sky was dark and before the stars twinkle. He was not prone to sneaking around. No, the sneaking was left to his brother – who he had no idea the whereabouts of.

It was already past supper when they had arrived at Frejord, and even later when they reached the castle. The infrastructure was more open, airy, elegant than Treneria’s massive fortress, bleak and cold and gray. And even with only candlelights illuminating the place, Mark could make out the richness, the wealth in the intricate designs of the columns and beams holding the castle together. He was surprised and, more importantly, impressed. Mark was in awe of what would be his home for whoever knew how long, but Jaebeom was, predictably, not. 

His brother had hissed and spoke about how no matter the decorations and embellishments made a trickery of harmony and comfort, a prison was still a prison.

 _Then_ they were separated, quite harshly too, and brought to different directions from the main hall of the residential part of the castle, and although Mark tried to memorize the swirling hallways, his head had been filled with trepidation to be of any use. He had thought he would be thrown with other prisoners, treated brutally because after all he was in Frejord as collateral, something to make sure his father stayed loyal to the Frejordian king. But what awaited him at the end of the corridor was a tasteful room, big enough for any court guest, with expensive furniture and ornaments, just like the rest of the castle. Mark was, again, in awe. Perhaps he had worried for nothing.

Food was delivered to his room not long after the guards had left him to his own. He tasted the foreign cuisine while surveying the place. His chamber was on the second floor of the castle; there was a big window overlooking a colorful garden and the scent of the flowers drifted into his room, casting a subtle fragrance carried by the wind. His bed was large and soft, the covers thick and of lavish colors, making him dizzy from the abundance of swirls and patterns. The wardrobe was filled with colorful clothes, finely spun fabrics, robe-like and light unlike the stiff uniform he had to wear in Treneria. Maybe it would not be prison at all, Mark thought.

But prison or not, Mark was worried of Jaebeom. He needed to know if his brother was treated the same as him. And the permanent worry he had over Jaebeom’s short temper and violent tendencies caused ropes of anxiety to coil and tighten around his neck. He would not be able to sleep the night if he found out Jaebeom was thrown to the dungeons, or _worse_ , because Jaebeom was reckless enough to get himself killed.

That was how he ended up navigating in the dark, looking for his brother. All he remembered was that Jaebeom was dragged, quite literally because Jaebeom never did anything without putting up a fight, towards the opposite direction of him. And so Mark marched directly down the corridor away from his room, going as far as he can, quiet and careful not to cause commotion or draw attention.

Guards seemed to be concentrated on the lower level or he would have bumped into one already, and it was odd to be able to walk around a place stranger to him yet feel the most relaxed he had ever felt in forever. The stillness of the night and the absence of constant sound of soldier footsteps patrolling the castle hallways made him lower his guard down. Prison or not, Frejord was quiet, and Mark loved the quiet.

He slowed to a halt when he approached the end of the corridor he turned to, giving way to a massive door, bigger and covered in more elaborate carvings than Mark’s chamber had. Mark thought he had done enough sneaking around, and turned on his heel to head to the next set of corridors when soft melodies of plucked strings caught his ears.

Mark had never intruded, was never rude to butt into anything not his business, but the continuous sweet notes from the other side of the door, a welcomed noise against the eerie silence of the rest of the castle, beckoned at him to peek, to cast a glimpse on the source of the music. He worried his lips, chewing on the plump bottom, and fidgeted with his hands. He had to look for his brother, make sure he was unhurt, but he was rooted in his place, eavesdropping on the serendipity he stumbled upon.

Mark had once asked his father to allow him to learn playing the lute after witnessing a performance for his seventh birthday. It was the first request he had asked of his father, mesmerized and moved by the music that came from a single person’s fingertips. He had thought that if he learned how to play the instrument, his father would be happy and proud of him. 

Mark had received his first slap across the cheek that day. The smack loud enough to resonate across his father’s study, and he had winced at how the sound of him thumping against the ground contrasted sourly with the notes from the lute that still rang in his head. Mark never asked anything silly again after that.

That day, too, Jaebeom had spilled blood for the first time. For Mark. And he was punished far more than Mark’s little slap on the cheek. Mark had come to bed that day with only a bruised cheek and the stinging underneath his chest where his heart should be. Jaebeom did not even come to bed at all. He met Jaebeom the next day, covered in cuts and marks and limping, and when Mark had asked him why he did what he did, Jaebeom just answered, _Well, father did not have to slap you, did he_. Mark had cried that day and Jaebeom kicked him for it.

The music suddenly stopped, replaced with footsteps that grew louder by the second, snapping Mark out of his reverie. He panicked and was about to run away when the huge door opened and revealed a boy with large doe eyes and even larger ears. The boy was around his age, perhaps younger, but Mark was unsure. He was frozen in place, forgetting to breathe, because he had just been caught _lurking_.

“You’re not a guard.”

The voice was squeaky, like twisting rubber around itself tightly, like skidding leather. It should grate on Mark’s ears but, somehow, it did not. Perhaps the cold shiver of dread at being caught glossed over the supposed annoyance or amusement. Perhaps it was the funny statement – Mark looked as far as a guard could be, what with his disheveled hair and lack of weapons. Perhaps it was the boy’s face, unbothered and mildly disinterested; the absence of clenching of the jaw in caution, the lack of hardening of the eyes in accusation even after finding Mark listening in on something he was not invited to. If the boy were half the boy Jaebeom was, Mark would have been pinned on the floor already with a busted lip and bleeding gums.

But this boy just stared at him in light confusion, waiting for him to answer. Not scanning him from head to toe for hidden tricks; not bracing himself for a possible attack even when Mark was a stranger in foreign uniform. There was no malice and that distracted Mark from being annoyed at the high-pitched squeaky tone.

“No,” he whispered, careful not to set the boy off, “I’m not a guard.”

The boy cocked his head to the side, eyes glinting with something Mark could not read. “Where did you come from?”

Mark shifted his weight from one foot to another. “From the opposite hall. The last room. The one looking out the garden.”

The boy stared at him hard before breaking into a smile, flicking a hand to dismiss his answer. “I meant, you’re not from here,” he gestured to Mark’s clothes, “That’s not Frejordian attire. Especially not for sleeping. You’re not from here.”

Mark chose his words carefully. He still had no inkling who the boy was. He could be a servant’s son – though highly unlikely guessing from the rich silk robe he wore, or the fact that he was staying in a room that appeared grander than Mark’s. He could be another collateral, an heir, a prince from somewhere sent to make sure his father would stay loyal to the Frejord king. “I’m not from here. I’m from Treneria.”

A spark of recognition lit in the boy’s eyes, smile growing wider. “Oh, I know Treneria! I haven’t been there yet but my books say it’s surrounded by mountains and trees and rivers.”

“I, uhm, yes. We do have a lot of mountains and trees and rivers.”

The boy thrusted a hand out, which in its force made Mark step back in reflex. “I’m Jinyoung. Nice to meet you.”

“M-Mark,” Mark stammered out in response, eyeing the hand in front of him, unsure if this Jinyoung was a friend or foe. He seemed nice, Mark thought, but Mark also knew people lied, and oh how easily they lied. The only forthright person Mark knew was his brother, and it was only because Jaebeom demanded to be seen all the time hence having no time to pretend to be someone he was not.

Jinyoung wiggled his fingers to remind Mark of the handshake, and when Mark finally clasped hands in greeting, Jinyoung strongly yanked Mark into the room and closed the door behind them. 

Mark instantly dropped Jinyoung’s hand and coiled, stance ready to defend himself.

Jinyoung appeared surprised at his offensive posture. “I’m sorry for pulling you like that. It’s just that conversing at the door seemed weird and I wanted to talk to you more about Treneria.”

The sheepish expression on Jinyoung’s face seemed genuine enough, no traces of pretense, and Mark hesitantly lowered his guard, standing like how a normal kid in the presence of another should, a bit embarrassed that he had lost control like that. He supposed he overreacted a bit. Jinyoung really seemed nice.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“It’s alright.” Jinyoung sat on a plush chair, removing the lyre that sat on it, carefully placing it on the floor. “I would be surprised too if someone just grabbed me like that. But I just got really excited. I don’t have anyone to talk to here, you know.”

Mark eyed the instrument on the floor. The stringed bow must be what he heard and caused him to stop in his tracks. “You play the lyre?”

“I do, sometimes, when I can’t sleep. Like tonight,” a soft smile graced Jinyoung’s face and Mark thought it to be lovely, “Was that why you were standing outside?”

Mark reddened. “Yes. You’re good at it.”

Jinyoung hummed in response. “I should be. I’ve been playing it for years. I could play it for you if you like but not tonight. My fingers hurt already.”

Mark just stood in the middle of the room awkwardly, not knowing what to do nor say. Fortunately, Jinyoung seemed to be comfortable enough to carry on their conversation.

“Treneria, huh? Tell me about it. I know my father had something to do with your king. Or maybe that was another king?” Jinyoung frowned. “I never know what exactly happens. I just hear bits and pieces from the guards and maids.”

Mark’s breath hitched. Between Jaebeom and him, Jaebeom was the fiery one, jumping on the gun before thinking, taking on the whole picture and missing important details. Not Mark. Mark noticed all the details. Jinyoung was no collateral for ransom.

“Your father,” He said slowly, “Your father is the king?”

“Yes, I thought you knew? That maybe that was why you were so jumpy. Don’t worry, I won’t report you for wandering around at night.” Then Jinyoung added as an afterthought, “You didn’t trespass in here, did you? In the castle, I mean.”

“No, no, I didn’t trespass. I was brought here.” Mark suddenly remembered what he had been doing before he got sidetracked, why he was out and about in the dead of the night. “ _We_ were brought here. Me and my brother. But we were separated and I was looking for him. I need to make sure he’s alright, that he hasn’t run into trouble yet.”

“Brother?”

Mark nodded, “Yes. Do you perhaps have any idea where he could be?”

“Say,” Jinyoung had stiffened, appeared more guarded and wary, “Who are you again? And why are you here if you’re Trenerian?”

Mark reckoned that if Jinyoung had been comfortable revealing to him his status, Mark owed it to him to be truthful as well. “I am Mark of House Lim, eldest son of the Trenerian king. Me and my brother, Jaebeom, were brought here for, uhh, business? To make sure the treaty between our countries will go smoothly.”

“You’re hostage?” Jinyoung’s eyes widened and for a second, again, Mark forgot he was supposed to search for Jaebeom. Jinyoung looked really lovely. “And now you can’t find your brother?”

“In simple terms, yes. So do you have any idea where he could be?”

Jinyoung stood and walked in circles for a bit, hands clasped behind his back like a sage would, head tilted up as if answers were splayed on the ceiling. “I don’t know. It’s the first time this has happened.” 

Somehow, Mark doubted that. He was familiar to how this worked. Even back in Treneria, those that held power and position did everything they could to keep their status. Humans were simply pawns; children were trading cards. Expensive and valuable trading cards.

Jinyoung must have noticed his doubts because he reasoned, “Oh, I didn’t mean about taking hostages. I know my father can be unforgiving at times and he goes through great lengths to protect Frejord. I just meant that this is the first time a prince got to be a prisoner, as far as I’m aware. And certainly the first time I had met one.”

“Oh.” Mark decided he had enough dawdling. Jaebeom could be bleeding already, and there were no nurses that would be obliged to patch his brother up, he thought. Not in Frejord. “I need to go. I must see that he’s alright.”

Mark hurried to open the door, peeked his head out, surveying if guards were on patrol. However, just like before, the hallways were dark and devoid of life. He stepped out.

“You can try the next corridor. There are three corridors in this wing and they all end in rooms. This is one,” Jinyoung mentioned to the expanse of his chamber, “Another is from where you came, the one near the gardens. The third one must be where your brother is.”

Mark bowed with a small smile he could not avoid making. Jinyoung was a nice person. Perhaps they could be friends during his stay. “Thank you.”

__________

“Jaebeom? Are you there?”

Jaebeom whipped his head from under the bed towards the knocking on the door. His first instinct was to barricade the heavy wood with something – the chair in front of the fireplace and the drawers on one side of the room looked promising enough – to prevent anyone from entering. But the knocking and harsh hissing continued.

“It’s Mark. Please tell me you’re in there. Jaebeom? Are you there? I’m worried. The door is locked. Open up.”

The cautious and harried pleas were definitely Mark’s. He exhaled in relief. It would be troublesome if he was caught red handed. The Frejordians would not be happy with his plans of escape.

Jaebeom crawled out from where he was half under the bed, crossed the room, opened the door hastily, and pulled Mark inside. He locked the door again right after.

“What are you doing here? How did you know where I am?”

His brother took an examining look at him, eyes searching for any damage, and Jaebeom hated the attention. Mark then surveyed the place, taking in the torn sheets that were tied from one end to another, connecting the strips until they were long enough to serve as rope, and the opened window.

“What are you doing?” Mark hesitantly asked. “Why are the sheets torn and why is it tied on the legs of the bed?”

Jaebeom sighed loudly, annoyed that he was being interrogated. Mark should be helping him. _Not_ delaying him. “The bed is heavy. It can hold my weight.”

“You’re trying to escape?” Mark exclaimed, incredulous, both disbelieving and, for some reason, proud of his brother’s idea. “And through the window too? What the hell, Jaebeom?”

“Yes, I’m trying to leave this place. Which you should be doing too.” Jaebeom cocked his head to one side, “Is that what you were doing? Trying to escape too? That’s why you’re here?”

“What? No!” Mark shook his head aggressively, and Jaebeom wondered then why Mark was prowling around the castle at night if not for trying to leave. “I was looking for you! I had to make sure you weren’t getting into trouble, like you are doing right now.”

“I’m leaving.” Jaebeom gritted his teeth. Mark could not be serious in stopping him.

“Jaebeom, listen to me. There are guards all over the ground. You can’t outrun them and when they catch you, you’ll be punished! You know that. You can’t just escape this place! We’re here for a reason.”

“I don’t care. I’m going back to Treneria,” Jaebeom scowled, “You can stay here if you want.”

“It’s not that I like this, okay?” Mark reasoned, hands going to his hair to grip and tug in frustration, “But if you try to leave in that way, you’re signing up to be killed. We’re not princes here. We’re prisoners. You said so yourself.”

Jaebeom knew that, and understood that they held no authority in Frejord. Still, he could not just sit back and enjoy being held captive.

Mark continued, “Look around you. The room is luxurious, more than our own rooms in Treneria, and we’re not bound and gagged. We’re being treated _well_ here, brother. Don’t do anything that will make them treat us differently.”

“What? You suggest I _enjoy_ our stay here?”

“Not enjoy, but more like tolerate? Endure? Be grateful that we’re not treated like actual captives,” Mark placed his hands on Jaebeom’s shaking shoulders. He was still Jaebeom’s older brother. It was up to him to make Jaebeom see reason. “You won’t be able to go back to Treneria anyways. Father was the one who sent us here, remember? He would return you the moment you show your face at home. Be reasonable.”

Jaebeom clenched his jaw hard, grinding his teeth in anger. He was simmering, blood hot in his veins and wanting out. He refused to stay still, but even blinded by the intense want to be free, he could see that his brother had a very valid point.

 _God,_ he ought to kill his father. Maybe that would be the first thing Jaebeom would do when he gets back to Treneria.

Sensing Jaebeom calming down, Mark dragged his brother to sit on the bed, mouth pursing at the ruined state of the expensive fabrics. He hoped Jaebeom would not be punished for it. “Look, we’ll find a way to return home, but we’ll do it in a manner that won’t end in us losing a limb. We’ll just have to play it smart.”

Jaebeom’s eyes blazed with the same ferocity the flames in the fireplace did. “Promise me, then, Mark. Promise me that one day we will leave this place. We will return and claim Treneria again.”

He could feel Mark boring holes at him but he did not turn his head, stubbornly watching the flames lick the solid concrete of the pit, watching the timbers glow orange in its wake.

“Swear to me, brother, that when the time comes, when an opportunity arises, you will come with me and we will return to Treneria.”

Mark was silent for a minute, probably weighing words. His brother never said anything he did not mean. No matter how timid he was, when Mark let go of the words, he stuck to them like his life depended on keeping them true. That was one quality they shared. Lims took their words seriously; their promises worth more than all the gold in the world. 

“Will you behave then?” Mark asked. “I’m not asking you to give up, you understand that, right? I just want you to be careful and not do things that will get you hurt. This isn’t home, Jaebeom.”

“I will,” he grumbled, “Not get myself killed, I mean.”

Mark slumped, and Jaebeom guessed his brother accepted that his answer was the best Mark could get out of him. And it was true. If Jaebeom, somehow, ran out of luck, he would make it sure that his last breath would be the crisp air from the mountains of his home. Not in Frejord, not in any other place.

“Okay,” Mark agreed, “I promise. When the time comes, we’ll both return to Treneria and everything will be alright.”

Jaebeom unclenched his fists at that and turned his attention to Mark. Mark had always been level-headed; he was responsible and trustworthy. Even if he made Jaebeom’s gut roil in frustration and, regretfully, disgust most of the time, at least it was not because he was doing something dishonorable. Mark only received Jaebeom’s ire when he would let himself be bullied, but he had never done anything to break Jaebeom’s trust in him. 

Mark was a good brother. 

Jaebeom could trust Mark. 

__________

Jinyoung bounded down to the banquet hall with a little skip in his steps. Last night he had met Prince Mark and he was looking forward to seeing him again. Jinyoung had always been left to his own, only palace guards beside him when he ventured past the castle gates and only tutors to humor him for conversations. Jinyoung had no siblings, and there never were cousins, immediate nor distant, who visited the castle to play with. As far as he knew, Frejord was independent and therefore alone; he was the same. And so, Mark’s presence was refreshing. The prince also appeared amiable if not overtly nervous, but Jinyoung chalked it up to worry about finding his brother.

At that thought, Jinyoung hoped Mark did locate his brother’s location. And Jinyoung looked forward to it as well, to having another person around his age.

He heard a loud booming voice in argument before he saw the source. It was angry and edged with sharpness that Jinyoung only heard when his father was particularly disappointed with someone, a tone his father used before handing out severe punishment. 

Jinyoung, worried and unsure, stood peeking at the entrance of the hall, watching the argument play before him, something like a gossipmonger in his own home.

“Why do I have to sit and listen to these people? And what? To learn? Study?”

The boy, who was scowling so hard it brought a frown on Jinyoung’s own face, appeared the same height as Mark. But that was where the similarity ended, and if Jinyoung had not known Mark had a brother, he would not think the fuming boy holding the knife so tightly it looked more like a weapon than utensil was Mark’s brother. Not Mark who was quiet and seemingly timid.

“It’s very kind of them to allow us to continue our education, Jaebeom,” Mark said, not batting an eye at his brother, focused on spreading butter on his bread, “They’re really kind to let us attend lessons alongside the prince and have the same tutors as him.”

“This is insane,” Jaebeom laughed sardonically, which both interested Jinyoung and put him on edge. “It’s almost like boarding school. Do I pretend it’s like that, huh?”

“If it’s easier for you, then do it,” Mark shrugged, “You promised you’d behave. Anyways, this is better for you too. Learn about history, geography, and other stuff so when we’re old enough, you can use it to your advantage.”

Jinyoung noticed Jaebeom piping down at Mark’s careful reason, a glint of something else in the sharp eyes of the younger Trenerian prince.

“What do you mean, brother?”

“Think of it as training. You’d learn valuable things about other nations, Jaebeom,” Mark smiled, looking up from the bread he was buttering, “Knowledge a future king should have.”

Jaebeom grumbled but sat down, seemingly appeased if a little reluctant, and Jinyoung was amazed at how Mark subtly manipulated his brother into submission. Mark was far smarter than his fair face offered. 

Jinyoung then deemed it alright for him to finally enter the hall and have his breakfast. The morning was almost done and soon enough, he, and the two princes, would be whisked away for lessons.

“Good morning,” Jinyoung greeted, smiling at both.

Mark perked up and smiled at him in return. Jinyoung noticed that devoid of worry for the safety of his brother, Mark was uniquely beautiful. He had never thought many men to be beautiful; usually with hard expressions, permanent scowls, and a savage tinge to their gazes, Jinyoung found most men, those that surround him, severe looking – always angry, always prepared for a fight. However, Mark was nothing but beautiful, his smooth, fair, angelic face shining brightly with a smile that made Jinyoung’s lips tug upwards as well.

“Good morning,” Mark said.

Jaebeom, on the other hand, narrowed eyes at him. “And who are you?”

Mark hissed at Jaebeom to be more respectful but Jinyoung waved his hand. The younger Trenerian prince did not seem to be as welcoming as his brother but Jinyoung supposed it was the more appropriate behavior after being dumped at another country as collateral. Jinyoung tried to be understanding and not let the animosity in Jaebeom’s eyes scare him _too_ much.

“I’m Jinyoung,” he said, lowering himself at the head of the table, in front of the savory breakfast awaiting him, “And you’re Mark’s brother, am I right? Jaebeom?”

Jaebeom’s already narrowed eyes narrowed even further, suspicious and wary. “ _Who_ are you?”

Jinyoung was taught by one of his many tutors some years ago that kings knew another king the instant they saw one, and they immediately weighed each other for importance, for _worth_ , for the prospects of alliance or betrayal. He was told that kings were inherently distrusting and they were always careful before other kings.

Jinyoung wondered if that was what was happening as Jaebeom continued measuring him up and down. _Ridiculous_ , Jinyoung thought. He was not yet king, and Jaebeom was not as well. Jinyoung was just trying to be friendly.

“I told you,” Jinyoung picked up a fork, “I’m Jinyoung. Park Jinyoung.”

He saw the gears rolling and clicking into place inside Jaebeom’s head, and prepared himself for more animosity. Jaebeom, Jinyoung’s first impression of him, appeared to be really against being in Frejord.

Instead of accusations, however, Jaebeom seemed to ease up. “So you’re the Park prince, huh?”

Jinyoung nodded, sausage hanging half-bitten from his mouth.

“And you know Mark?”

This time, it was Mark who answered. “I happened to his room last night when I was looking for you. He directed me to your possible location.”

Jaebeom hummed, placing both knife and fork down and pushing his plate away, “Okay.”

Jinyoung could not read the boy’s mind, what he might be thinking, if he was still suspicious of him or was starting to warm up. Jaebeom still had sharp eyes, and Jinyoung could feel that he was acutely aware of everything in the room, silently on guard for anything that might happen. 

Mark, as expected of his sibling status, seemed unphased. “You’re done eating?”

“Yes,” Jaebeom said and stood up, leaving Jinyoung and Mark.

“We have lessons soon,” Jinyoung called before Jaebeom was fully out of the room, “Like _very_ soon and Mrs. Jung hates tardiness.”

“I’ll be there,” Jaebeom’s clipped answer echoed along his footsteps, already down the hallway.

Jinyoung frowned at his plate. _What was that about?_

“Don’t worry about him, Jinyoung,” Mark said, smiling at him and without a trace of worry for his brother’s weird attitude. “He’s like that all the time. It’s not that he hates you. On the contrary, I think he’s more disappointed that you turned out to be way better than he thought you would be.”

“Oh?” Jinyoung pressed, “And what did he think I would be like?”

Mark tilted his head to the side, and the filtered rays of the sun coming from the window behind him haloed around, making him look even more radiant. _Angel_ , Jinyoung’s mind whispered.

“I’m not really sure,” Mark sighed, “I’m never actually sure about the things going in his head but I think he expected you to be a jerk.”

Jinyoung snapped out of his reverie, which consisted of his new friend’s brilliant face and even more brilliant smile, and frowned. He had taken careful measures to be as welcoming as he could all the time. His father might be ruthless, but Jinyoung was not trying, never intended, to follow his steps, and so far, Jinyoung had not made any rumors that would paint him in such a negative light – in the kingdom and across other nations. The most unflattering rumor of him going around was one where he was a spoiled brat that did not care about his nation. Jinyoung did not consider it to be baseless, though, since he really couldn't care less about inheriting the throne. He was just playing along with the role of a prince because his father gave him no out.

Why Jaebeom would expect him to be a jerk even without premise baffled him.

Sensing his confusion, Mark elaborated. “Oh, don’t worry. As I’ve said, Jaebeom’s just like that. He hates everyone with rank. Even back in Treneria, he hadn’t gotten along well with the nobility and anyone who has power. And he had valid reasons to. I think he didn’t expect you to be nice.”

At that, Jinyoung’s already piqued curiosity intensified, the tiny seed of hurt disappearing like it had never been casted. “He hates nobility? But he is royalty himself!”

“Well, that is true,” Mark agreed, “But he wasn’t exactly treated like how you must have been.”

Jinyoung’s mouth pursed in concentration. _So the Trenerian heir is jaded, that must be it_ , he thought.

“Just don’t think too much of it,” Mark assured, “If anything, I can assure you that he’s not planning your death right as we speak and in Jaebeom’s language, that’s good. Really good. He doesn’t hate you and that’s the best you could hope for a first meeting with him.”

Jinyoung’s eyes widened at the mention of death. And by the manner Mark had said it, so casually and full of nonchalance, Jinyoung concluded that it happened often. They were just kids, not tall enough to be knights yet, and it seemed that Treneria’s second prince had already been fighting battles on his own.

If he was uninterested before, which was far from the truth, he was now fascinated beyond everything that had caught his attention before. 

Jaebeom was refreshing, a spark of something alive amidst Jinyoung’s monotone and dead palace.

__________

Mrs. Jung had no qualms expressing her irritation when Jaebeom finally walked into the lecture room, her eyes almost crossing in the middle, glasses skewed. Even Mark winced at his brother’s disheveled state. It had just been an hour since he saw him, how Jaebeom was able to dirty himself so much in such little time never ceased to amaze Mark.

“You have a lot of nerve showing up filthy,” she scolded, “And in front of the prince too! I don’t care who you are or who your father is. I don’t tolerate lateness and,” she gestured to Jaebeom’s entire being, “such dirt, especially not coming from someone like _you_. What insolence!”

Mark’s blood went cold. He could hear Jaebeom’s own blood simmering, nearing to a boil and spilling over to cause wreckage, even with the distance between them. He hurried to mitigate the impending mess. Jinyoung did not need to witness Jaebeom losing control, and he would not be able to stop his brother once the first punch was thrown. “Jaebeom, don’t,” he calmly said, “ _Please_.”

But the second prince of Treneria’s teeth were already bared.

Jaebeom growled, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mark stood up and slowly moved towards his brother, not failing to notice Jinyoung’s questioning glance, but Jaebeom’s sharp glare, telling him not to meddle, stopped him in place. Mark then prayed to the heavens to diffuse the situation. He never liked it when Jaebeom got violent, and he was sure no one in Frejord would like it either.

The lecturer, not giving a care at all, scoffed loudly, voice dripping with disdain. “Your title means nothing, _scum_ . Especially not here. I shouldn’t have been surprised that a polymorph like you don’t know how to act properly.” Her reverberating laugh full of condescension and distaste, “No matter the status, being human can’t be learned if you're _lacking_ it. No amount of lectures and lessons can make you something worthy of being what you’re apparently not.”

The insult rang in Mark’s ear, loud and sharp, and it hurt. He had always felt for Jaebeom whenever his bloodline was thrown at his face. If it were him, Mark would not know how to deal with the constant mockery. Mark had his fair share of torment, being bullied and taken advantage of by his cousins, but it never had been at the same damaging level as Jaebeom’s. Mark could fight back, he could change himself and be less timid, be more brave. But his brother, no matter how much he fought back, being impure was something Jaebeom could never change.

But more than sympathy, Mark feared Jaebeom the most when he was at his lowest, when he was most hurt and vulnerable. Because when Jaebeom was most wounded, he was at his most ferocious. Mark, as usual and as he had learned from growing up alongside his brother, would not be able to calm Jaebeom this time.

Jinyoung’s scream had not the time to bounce off the walls yet but Mrs. Jung was already lying on her back, tackled to the ground with Jaebeom sitting on her stomach, his hands wrapping around her slim throat.

Mark immediately ran to Jaebeom’s side, coaxing his brother, trying to pry the small hands open. “Jaebeom, oh god, don’t do this,” he pleaded, “She’s not worth it.”

Jaebeom snarled, eyes filled with rage, “ _No_. You heard her, brother. What she called me,” Jaebeom tightened his grip, and Mrs. Jung, after snapping out of shock of being pummeled to the ground, started shrieking and pushing and clawing Jaebeom, “I will kill her, Mark.”

The shrieks got louder, and Mark worried that the guards would hear it and rush in, which would not be good. Definitely not good. At the corner of his eyes, Mark saw Jinyoung standing, mouth agape and eyes panicked, but, at least, he was not making a move. As long as Jinyoung kept still, it would be one less problem for Mark. He would not be able to comfort Jinyoung and convince him to not call for help _while_ trying to bring Jaebeom under control. That would be too much for him.

“Get off me!” Mrs. Jung choked out, squirming violently and trying to knee Jaebeom at the back, “You, monster! Get off me!”

Jaebeom was smaller, younger, but the strength he had was more than Mrs. Jung’s and Mark’s combined. Mark had wondered before if Jaebeom’s unusual strength was because of his blood but he never had the chance, nor the courage, to broach the topic. It would make his brother hate him more.

“Jaebeom,” Mark frustratingly said, “Let go! She’s not worth it. You’re better than her, Jaebeom. Better than this.”

His brother appeared fixated at cutting Mrs. Jung’s circulation, reveling in the growing paleness of her face. Mark, reaching his limit and truly fearing his brother might commit murder, readied himself to topple Jaebeom off, to push his brother away with all his might and free the lecturer. But as soon as he laid a hand on Jaebeom’s shoulder, his brother started loosening his grip.

Then when Jaebeom had fully let go and Mrs. Jung was left gasping for air, choking and inhaling oxygen like her life depended on it, which perhaps it did, and before Mark could even blink in relief, before anyone could mutter anything – Jaebeom’s hand had swiftly cut the air and landed on Mrs. Jung’s cheek in a violent slap, the sound of skin hitting skin sharp and stinging.

Mrs. Jung was stunned to silence; no hands prevented her from shouting, from yelling, yet she was silent like her tongue got cut off. And this time, Mark saw fear creep in her eyes. Mark concluded that it must have been the first time she got physically hurt, and she was starting to see Jaebeom for what he really was capable of. Not a measly thirteen year old bargained by his father, but a young man who was ready to _take_ and was not sorry for it.

Mark always knew Jaebeom was scariest when he was hurt.

“ _You,_ ” Jaebeom spat in her face. “Your insolence would not be tolerated. I don’t care that this is not Treneria, that doesn’t erase the fact that I am an heir to a crown. And that’s more than you will, _can_ , ever be.”

Mark could hear the trembling in Jaebeom’s voice, but unlike him who had trembled out of fear, Jaebeom only trembled because of poorly contained rage. But at least it was contained for now. Mark was thankful; no guards yet.

“Mark, Jinyoung,” Jaebeom addressed the still agape prince as well, and Mark instantly got anxious. Jinyoung had nothing to do with the lecturer pissing Jaebeom off.

“Y-yes?” Jinyoung stuttered. Mark nodded.

“I’m not going to attend lectures today.”

Jinyoung, even more surprised than he was before, replied, “Okay?”

Mark, however, slumped in relief. Jaebeom _was_ done. There had been no blood shed. It was good. 

He watched as Jaebeom got off Mrs. Jung who still refused to move, and Mark knew it was because she was scared. It both sent ripples of pride and disgust through Mark, that Jaebeom’s violence elicited such reactions.

“Be back for dinner, okay?” Mark said. “And please, remember your promise to me, brother.” 

Jaebeom nodded before crossing the threshold and closing the door to the room silently, leaving a wide eyed Jinyoung and their mess of a lecturer on the floor.

Mark gave a small smile to ease Jinyoung who was surely still shocked, and he was infinitely relieved when the Frejordian prince returned it, even if a little shaky, face just short of being ghostly pale as their lecturer’s. And although Mrs. Jung was still reeling from having her neck almost snapped by a kid, Mark thought everything went fine. It was good that Jaebeom relented easily. If they were back in Treneria, Mrs. Jung would not have stood a chance, not until guards arrived.

Mark had always thought Jaebeom, wild and uninhibited, reckless and determined Jaebeom, fit right in Treneria. Or more like, Jaebeom was Treneria. Always filled with noise, never slowing down. Always beating along the tune of passion and blood. 

On most days, Mark tolerated the noise even if all it did was make him crouch in on himself and bury his face in his pillows at night to block out the sounds. His sleeps were always fitful then. On worse days, Mark silently screamed inside, wishing Jaebeom, his father, his uncles, his cousins, the guards – _everyone_ – to disappear. On worse days, there was no sleeping for Mark.

But Frejord was different. 

It was quiet, even with the still harsh intakes of air from their lecturer’s throat, the hysterical shrill almost relaxing him. It was, in a way that Treneria never was, soothing. 

The same way Jinyoung’s returning smile had been. 

Mark could not point a finger on it. Usually, Jaebeom wrecked enough havoc that the aftermath would have Mark wanting to be left alone. But it was different this time. He did not want to be alone, and the sudden warmth of Jinyoung placing his hand, uncertain and clammy, on his shoulder brought a tiny sense of calm to his mind.

And a voice within Mark, careful and calculating, told him that perhaps, by chance or by fate, he might just belong right where he stood. In Frejord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Comment down what you think or send them over [cc](https://curiouscat.me/crudescere)  
> :DD


End file.
